


Box Full of Letters

by Yangs Sunglasses (Nilenium)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Drama, F/M, Letters, Romance, Work In Progress, some tags are for the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8380285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilenium/pseuds/Yangs%20Sunglasses
Summary: Yang's mailbox is never empty, but what about his heart?





	1. Letter of Resignation

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a scene from the film "My Conquest Is the Sea of Stars" in which Yang discusses his fanmail with Attenborough.  
> The title comes from a song by Wilco.

**Heinessen – 1 Day after the 13 th Fleet arrived from the capture of the Iserlohn Fortress**

The word about Rear Admiral Yang's capture of the impregnable Iserlohn Fortress reached the Alliance space much faster than his ships, so to no one's surprise, he barely stepped on the soil of the homeworld, when he was swept away by the waiting dignitaries. They all shook his hand so enthusiastically that he thought it would fall off. The grand celebrations upon his return were endless and, even worse, he couldn't take a French leave because he was the star of the evening. Yang endured all the attention in silence, as the people he didn't even know sang his praises, which he tolerated with gritted teeth, or attempted to pat him on the back, which he avoided. When he finally got back home, he took a bottle of brandy with him to bed and drank himself to sleep. 

Unfortunately, he didn't oversleep because Julian was a kind of an alarm clock that couldn't be just turned off whenever one wishes to. Yang had no choice but to freshen up, put on a clean uniform and shield himself from that irritatingly bright sunlight with his trusty sunglasses. Thus equipped, he went to work and arrived right on time. Yang entered the office without any hurry, covering his mouth as he yawned. 

“Good morning, sir,” his adjutant greeted him with a salute. 

Yang saluted back. “Good morning.” He noticed an empty cardboard box on her desk. “What's this?” 

“Oh, it's nothing, just a box. The mail was inside, but I already sorted it and laid it out on your desk, sir,” sublieutenant Greenhill explained. 

Yang scratched his head. “There was so much they put it in a box?” 

“Yes, I understand it has been accumulating since the fleet left the capital. Some of the letters seemed like late congratulations for your promotion to rear admiral, sir.” 

He laid a cool palm on his forehead. “I need a drink.” 

“I'll bring tea,” Greenhill offered. 

Yang didn't exactly have tea in mind, but at the moment he was willing to take anything. He nodded, which caused a spike of pain to drive into his skull. With a wince, he massaged the spot and made a mental note not to move his head like that again. Then he went into his private inner office. It was separated from the sublieutenant's workplace, which doubled as the front office. 

He took his seat and glared (or rather looked, because he found out that glaring also hurt) at the piles of envelopes taking up the space on his desk. He took a few off the top and noticed they were sorted by the sender and then by the timestamp. The thickest stack was from the civilian citizens. Yang decided to deal with it last. 

The sublieutenant came with tea and after she left, he noticed that she had also brought him painkillers. How did she know of his headache? He hadn't said anything to her. 

Yang swallowed the pills and washed them down with the tea, then he leaned back in his chair, put the sunglasses in his breast pocket and closed his eyes. He decided a nap would be in order to get rid of the headache faster. He couldn't do any work with it anyway. 

“Sir.” The soft voice of his adjutant woke him up. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It's been only half an hour. 

“Yes?” he rasped. 

“Are you feeling better?” 

That's when he realized the pain disappeared. “I'm fine.” 

“I'm relieved. Here are the reports.” Greenhill put them down on the desk before him. 

“Thank you,” he said, already reaching into a pocket to get a pen. Instead he touched paper, which reminded him of another important matter he planned to take care of as soon as possible. “Sublieutenant, could you schedule me a meeting with Fleet Admiral Sitolet? At the earliest convenience, today or tomorrow?” he requested. 

Greenhill put a finger to her lips in thought. “He's pretty busy right now, so I don't know if that'll be possible...” she said, then saw his dejected reaction, “... but I'll see what I can do.” 

Yang gave a small nod. 

“Please do. Get me the earliest date you can.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

When she left, Yang took the paper out of his pocket. It was his resignation letter. He'd had it prepared for a long time, this was just the newest reincarnation of the same letter he'd composed when he'd entered the service. The addressee changed, the date changed, his own rank changed, but now he thought that he finally got his best shot at successfully leaving the military. He gave them Iserlohn on a silver platter, with only half a fleet at his disposal and sustaining no losses, that should be enough of a ransom to buy him out of this life he hadn't chosen. He was never a soldier material anyway. 

“Sir, your appointment will be tomorrow at 1800 hours,” Greenhill told him. 

Yang quickly hid the letter back in his pocket. “Good, thank you.” 

She definitely saw what he did there, but she ignored it. She wasn't a nosy person, which trait he more than appreciated. “Fleet Admiral will be all day today and tomorrow out of the office, but he rescheduled other meetings to see you first when he gets back. If it wasn't for you, I'd have gotten an appointment no sooner than in two weeks.” 

Something about her comment grated him and he spoke without thinking. 

“Sublieutenant, do you think I get special treatment because I won a battle?” 

“Sir, it's to be expected that-” 

“No,” Yang cut her off, “it's because Sitolet likes me. We've known each other since I was a student and he was my principal in the academy. That's all.” 

“I-I understand, sir,” she said, looking surprised and a little hurt by his tone. Yang cursed himself inwardly. He had an annoying tendency to say the wrong things around her against his own intentions or common sense. 

“Sublieutenant, I wasn't scolding you,” he began in a conciliatory tone. “But if there is one thing I learned in my military service, it's that victories have their price. The more you win, the more enemies you gain.” 

She was taken aback again, this time by his pessimistic outlook, but she recovered shortly. “I'll remember that, sir. Excuse me,” she said and walked out. 

_That went well,_ Yang thought sarcastically. _At least I'm getting out of the military soon, so I won't have to take my own advice any longer._


	2. To Read or Not to Read

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a difference in opinion in Yang's office.

Sublieutenant Greenhill entered Yang's office with a batch of new printouts and memos. The vice admiral acknowledged her with a short look, then returned his attention to looking out of the window in a pensive mood. She could imagine that the recent uncertain situation troubled him deeply. Many hoped the Iserlohn's capture would bring peace to the Alliance, but the politicians still didn't speak a word on the matter. Instead, there was an increasing number of rumours floating around about planning a new offensive against the Empire. Frederica had no doubt that Vice Admiral Yang and the 13th Fleet would be sent to the front lines in such a case. No wonder he seemed worried.

She approached the desk and set the documents before him, then her gaze slid to the corner which was buried under the growing pile of fan letters. From the looks of it, the vice admiral hadn't touched them even once since their arrival on Heinessen a week ago. Frederica had tried asking him about it, but he'd always excused himself with some other work and said he'd deal with the letters later. He'd never specified when this “later” was supposed to be.

Frederica frowned. Well, a week was long enough for a grace period. She'd been turning blind eye on this issue, but as his adjutant she finally had to put a stop to this procrastination.

“Sir, are you going to read these letters?” she asked.

“Later,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the spectacular orange sunset.

“I'm not asking _when_ , I'm asking _if_ you're going to read them at all,” she said.

Startled by her firmness, he turned to give her his full attention. Frederica stared right back at him stonily.

Yang sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I don't know,” he said. “Frankly, I don't want to read these letters, but just throwing them out like that would be cruel.”

“You can't keep them here forever, sir,” she pointed out.

“I know.” He took the first envelope from the top of a pile and turned it over in his hands, inspecting it thoughtfully. She waited for him to say something more, but he stayed quiet.

“Then what do you usually do with the fan mail?” Frederica asked. In the time before her assignment as his adjutant and the return to Heinessen she'd never had to deal with his private correspondence. Sometimes she forgot just how short her time in the 13th Fleet was.

“Most of the time I keep it until I have to throw it out when I need space for new documents,” he revealed, putting the letter back on the pile.

“So you don't read any of it? Why?” she asked, completely puzzled.

“Because it's all sent by strangers to a 'hero' that doesn't exist. Not me,” he explained, looking her straight in the eyes.

Frederica blinked as she processed his words. Her fists tightened and she breathed in slowly, then she picked up the same envelope he'd just put down. She showed it to him, tapping the address with her pointer finger. “It says it's for Yang Wen-li. And unless there's some other person with the same name, he's sitting right in front of me.”

His eyes narrowed at her. She could tell he was growing annoyed, but it wasn't going to stop her now. She was determined to make him see reason.

“I told you, they didn't write it _to me_. I'm not a hero and I never was one,” Yang insisted.

“Well, to them you are,” she snapped. “This isn't about what you think of yourself. It's about all the people who wrote to you and what they believe. You can't just ignore their feelings as if they don't count, just because these people don't know you in person! So I suggest you read the letters. You owe it to them. Sir,” she hastily added that last word as an afterthought, meant to smooth over her impertinence, but instead only highlighting it.

He was stunned for a moment as she'd never lost her temper before, but Frederica didn't stick around for him to regain his speech. Before he could retort, she was already out of the door, walking so fast she was almost running.

She burst into the women's restroom and leaned her back against the closed door, releasing a deep breath. Away from the confrontation, her bravado quickly evaporated. She went to the sink and splashed her face with water to cool off, then she looked into the mirror. _I had to say it_ , she thought to her pale reflection sternly even as the cold sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She had clearly overstepped; no adjutant had the right to scold their superior—advise, yes, but not _snap_ at him or give orders. Frederica wondered if the vice admiral would send her away himself or if he would require her to resign.

It was already getting late and she would have gone straight home, but she realized she'd left her bag at the office. And she had to close it up for the night anyway, so with the last look in the mirror, she pushed back a few unruly strands of hair and reluctantly went back.

When she returned, the door between her work space and the vice admiral's office was wide open. He immediately raised his head upon hearing her entry.

“So you're back. I started thinking that you... left,” he said vaguely.

“Well, I didn't.”

“Good. That's good.”

Did she hear a relief in his tone? And why hadn't he gone home yet?

Frederica finally stepped inside his office and saw what had kept him. To his left there was a large heap of envelopes and to his right—a small pile of opened letters. He must have just gotten started.

Yang noticed her surprise and twirled the pen in between his fingers with a smirk.

“Sir, but why...” she said, confused.

“You had a point about this,” he replied evenly.

“I did?” she echoed.

“Yes. I thought about what you said and you were right. Someone has to read these letters and if the imaginary hero Yang Wen-li can't do the job, then the responsibility falls on the real Yang Wen-li.”

Frederica's expression brightened, but it immediately dimmed when she remembered her misconduct. She steeled her spine. It was time to face the music.

“Sir, I'm sorry for my earlier behaviour. I shouldn't have taken that tone with you. I was out of line-”

“No, it's alright,” he said, waving her apology off. “But there's something I'd like to ask. Why did you react so strongly? It wasn't like you,” he inquired.

“It's...” Frederica bit her lower lip. Then she collected her thoughts and continued. “Well, there was once a girl that you saved on El Facil. She sent you a thank you letter after she got back home safely. I think she would've been very disappointed if you never read it.” She looked straight at him. “That's why I reacted that way.”

Yang unexpectedly smiled. “The letter with the elephant?”

Her eyes widened and she nodded jerkily.

“I still have it somewhere. I liked that drawing. No one else drew anything on their letters to me.”

“Ah... R-really?”

“Yes. That letter said something about elephants having long memory and that the girl won't forget what happened on El Facil.”

“She didn't,” Frederica confirmed with a smile. Her cheeks felt a bit hot, so she averted her gaze to the window. It was dark, only a thin strip of lavender on the horizon remained after the sunset and even that would disappear within minutes. But it didn't matter to the city full of lights, absorbed only in itself, its own selfish wants and needs. It paid no heed to the encroaching darkness, but how long would this false sense of security last?

“Sublieutenant, sit down,” Yang ordered, bringing her back to the present.

“Sir?” she asked.

“It'll be faster if you help me with reading these,” he said, pushing half of the unsealed pile of letters towards her. “I don't want to miss the evening news, you know,” he added with a wink.

“Of course,” she replied and tore open the first envelope. They had a ton of work ahead, but she didn't mind staying overtime. With the new equilibrium they reached, she felt more comfortable working alongside her boss than ever before.

Now she knew that he would listen to her, even if their opinions differed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress and I'll be fixing mistakes as I'll write new chapters. I'm constantly trying to improve.
> 
> Comments are very welcome :)


End file.
